Savage Blue
by FirstDraftWorstDraft
Summary: In the years following the events of the film, Nighthowler addiction took Zootopia by storm. The chance to 'savage out' into primal bliss is tempting for many mammals looking for an escape. As one of them, a wolf named Bryce, struggles to get clean and put his life back together, a ZPD detective wages war on a mysterious distributor known only as Savage Blue. UPDATES EVERY FRIDAY
1. Promises

1

For the third time in his life, Bryce Fitzpatrick removed all of his worldly possessions from a small, sealed bag. He placed his battered wallet and outdated cell phone into his jacket pocket, and tied a cord adorned with a single, polished stone around his neck. He passed the empty bag back under the window to the receptionist, a giraffe. She was giving him a cross look.

"Is there anything else you need?" she asked. "Phone call?"

Bryce shook his head. "No. Thank you."

"Will we be seeing you again?" asked the giraffe.

"No," said Bryce.

"Right," said the giraffe, unconvinced. "I'll see you in the obits."

Bryce ignored her and left the lobby. A few minutes later he was standing on a dimly lit corner. A digital clock on a passing bus told him it was nine thirty p.m. Bryce stuffed his paws into his jacket pockets and started walking toward the bright, twinkling towers of Zootopia a mile or so away. When a soft breeze blew past, the wolf opened his mouth and relished the cool, crisp taste of the evening air. It was the first time he'd been outside, minus the clinic's small yard, in two, long months. The novelty of free air never lost its appeal.

Bryce flagged a passing cab several minutes later and was surprised when it slowed and pulled to the curb. He guessed it had to be another predator driving. Prey typically didn't stop to pick up mammals like him, especially at this time of night in this part of town. Sure enough, when he opened the door, the interior light revealed the worn and weathered features of an old coyote with baseball cap on his head and a burning cigarette in his paw.

"Where you headed?" asked the coyote.

"Apple Orchard Cemetary," Bryce replied.

"Right," said the coyote. "If I crack my window, you mind if I smoke?"

"Go ahead," said Bryce. The coyote opened his window and the cab turned onto the road. Bryce rested his head against the glass and watched the brightly lit spires of the city inch closer as the minutes passed. They eventually merged onto a large freeway and headed north.

The cemetery gate was closed when they arrived. The coyote killed the engine and gave his passenger a questioning look. "Well, what do you want to do boss?"

"I have the key to one of the side gates," Bryce lied. "I just need to pop in for a few minutes. Can you stick around?"

"I don't mind," said the coyote. He gestured to the meter on the dash. "As long as you don't mind paying the fare first."

Bryce handed the coyote a pawful of bills and stepped outside. The air was cooler and fresher here in the hills around the city, and he panted to appreciate it as he circumnavigated the cemetery wall until the cab was out of sight. He climbed over the wall and began taking large, awkward steps to avoid stepping on the graves.

It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. He knew exactly where he was going.

Bryce knelt in front of a small, granite plaque laid in the ground and gave it a weak smile. "Hey dad." He ran his paw over the cool stone and felt the inscriptions beneath his pads.

DANIEL FITZPATRICK

A LOVING HUSBAND, A CARING FATHER, A GENTLE SOUL

"I went back in since last time," said Bryce. "The fuzz picked me up on the street. I didn't hurt anyone, I'm not even sure how I got outside."

The sounds of the night filled the silence like a guilty conscience. The wolf wiped his eyes with the back of his paw.

"I'm sorry dad. I'm so, so sorry." He hung his head placed both paws on the plaque. "But I'm done, okay? I'm clean. It's over."

A single tear fell onto the plaque with a soft plop. Bryce brushed it away with his thumb, then sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I know you've heard me say that before. It wasn't true then, but it is now. It's over. I promise." Bryce stood and dusted his jeans. "Sorry, I've got a cab waiting. I love you dad." He lifted his head and gave a long, mournful howl.

Bryce broke that promise two months later.

2

The gates of Apple Orchard Cemetery opened several hours after Bryce Fitzpatrick left, and Ellie Langford was among the first mammals to walk through them. The lamb was wearing a new, freshly pressed suit and carried a bouquet of lilies in the crook of her arm. She walked with a purposeful stride, and it didn't take her long to find what she was looking for. She knew exactly where she was going.

Ellie placed the lilies at the base of a large headstone then stood and gave a perfunctory salute.

"Hi dad," she said. "I made detective yesterday.

Almost like an acknowledgment, the sun crested the hills and spilled its warm, orange light onto the stone.

JAMES LANGFORD

A WARRIOR OF JUSTICE IN LIFE, A WARDEN OF JUSTICE IN DEATH

"I don't have my badge yet," said Ellie. "I'm receiving it later this morning, so I really can't stay long. Chief Rubio is insisting on making a ceremony out of it. I wish he wouldn't. You didn't have a ceremony, did you?" Her question was met with birdsong from the cemetery's titular apple trees.

"He says it's because I'm the youngest mammal to pass the exam in twenty years. True or not, I don't want that kind of attention. You know me, I'd rather just do my job." She grinned at the headstone. "Especially now. They put me in narcotics."

A small breeze picked up, and Ellie resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself. "You know what that means, right? I'm one step closer to finding him. I'll have other duties of course, but as long as I'm in the unit..." Ellie trailed off. She put one hoof on her father's tombstone and bowed her head.

"You know," she said, "I don't really like this whole ceremony business, but I wish you could've been here to see it. I miss you dad. All the time." She checked her watch, then sighed. "I have to go."

The ewe took a measured step back and saluted again. "I'll get him dad. I promise."


	2. Punching Bag

1

Bryce Fitzpatrick had planned on staying with his mother for, at most, ten days after he was released. He made it to four.

"Grant finished up school last month," said his mother over dinner on the fourth night.

Bryce didn't look up from his food. "That's great, I'll have to call him."

"Call?" asked his mother. "You? Really?"

"Yes," said Bryce, putting down his fork. "I'll give him a call tomorrow."

"You sure you remember how?"

"Yes, mom," said Bryce. "I remember how."

"That's funny," said his mother. She rested her cheek in one paw and tapped the fingers of her other on the tabletop. "Because given how little you call, I just figured you'd forgotten how a phone works."

"Har har," said Bryce. She narrowed her eyes. He returned her gaze expressionlessly.

"Grant graduated," she said.

"I know, you just told me," he replied.

"Summa cum laude. You know what that word means?"

"Yeah."

"It means he graduated in the top of his class."

"I just said I-"

"Top of his class!" his mother interrupted. "You know why he did so well?"

"Because he's smart?" replied Bryce.

"Because I told him to," she said matter-of-factly. "He looked right at me and waved when they gave him his diploma. I think he was thanking me."

Bryce doubted that, but nodded anyway. The pair ate in stony silence for a few moments before his mother spoke again. "Your brother works hard Bryce. Does that concept confuse you?"

Her condescending tone prodded Bryce's patience. "I'm done talking about this, mom."

"Why?" she asked. "Does it embarrass you?"

Bryce shook his head. "No, it doesn't. I know what you're trying to do, and I don't want to deal with it."

"Deal with it?" she asked, sounding hurt. "Is that what you think of our talks? Of me? You just have to deal with me?"

"Stop it."

"Don't tell me to stop!" she said, raising her voice. "The day you have children is the day you can tell somemammal to-"

"Come on, I don't want to do this right now, please stop."

"Well tough, we're doing this right now," she replied. "You need to go back school and start doing something worthwhile with your life. None of your stupid art business, you need to start making money."

"I do make money."

"Grant makes forty thousand a year."

"Good for him."

She pointed a claw at him. "Don't be an ass, you don't make nearly that much."

"No," said Bryce, irritated. "I don't, but that's fine. I don't need to."

"Oh really? You're just going to live in a small, dirty apartment your whole life? Is that where you're going to raise my grandchildren?"

"I don't know, mom."

"You don't know! You don't know!" She lifted her arms and started waving her paws. "That's always the case with you. You don't know! Well what _do_ you know, Bryce?"

Bryce finished the last scraps off his plate and stood up. "I know I'm done with this conversation. Would you like me to take your plate?"

"You're not done yet, sit down!" barked his mother. When he ignored her she stood up, grabbed him by a shoulder, and tried to shove him back down into his chair. Bryce was a much taller wolf than his mother, and her attempts had little effect on him. "Sit down!" she repeated.

Bryce pushed her paw away. "Don't touch me. I'm not a pup, you can't get away with that anymore."

"Get away with what? Touching you? Your own mother can't touch you now?"

"You know what I mean. You lay a paw on me again and we're going to have a problem."

She moved in front of him, blocking his path to the kitchen, and put her paws on her hips. "Threatening me. Really? You'd threaten your old, helpless mother?"

"You're not helpless. Let me through."

"Or what, you're going to attack me?"

"Oh for- no, I wouldn't attack you. Let me through please."

"First you disrespect me, then you try to leave this meal I spent a lot of time effort prepar-"

" _I_ made dinner," said Bryce with an edge in his voice.

"Time and effort preparing," continued his mother, talking over him. "Now you threaten me. How can you treat your mother like this? Do you have any idea how hard this is on me?"

"Move."

"Not until I'm done. How many times have you been in rehab, huh? What is it now? Five? Six?"

"Three. Move."

"Oh thank goodness, only three. What a relief." She mocked wiping sweat off her brow. "Just three."

"Stop it." Bryce was growling now.

"I cried for hours when I got the news you were back in," she said. She dropped her voice to a sad whine. "I just couldn't bear the thought of one of my children going through that again."

A reply escaped his mouth before Bryce could bite it down. "Yeah, I'm fine, thanks for asking."

Her mouth fell slightly open, and Bryce wondered if the fact his situation affected someone besides his mother had even crossed her mind. He tried to squeeze past her, but she stepped in front of him and leaned against the doorway. "You're not fine Bryce, you're sick."

"I was."

"And still are," she interjected. "You're sick and you need help."

"I just got two months of help. I'm fine."

"Oh you're fine. Huh." She crossed her arms and looked down. "You know," she said softly, "I've tried to be a good mother. I did everything I could to give you boys the best life I could, and you threw it away. How do you think that makes me feel?"

"I don't care. Let me through."

"Grant wouldn't talk to me like that."

Bryce's composure finally began to slip. "Oh yeah? Why's that mom?"

She smiled. "Because he loves me. You should try it some-"

"He loves you because of me," interrupted Bryce. "I did that. You're welcome."

She shoved him roughly in the chest and Bryce dropped his plate. It shattered on the wooden floor as he stumbled and regained his footing. His mother was pointing an accusatory paw at him. "You're a liar!" she shouted.

"And that's why," said Bryce. "That's exactly why, because I was always there to stop a fight or to take a shove. Don't touch me again. Last warning."

"You're a rotten, spoiled liar!" his mother shouted. "I never laid a paw on you!"

"I've got a scar that says otherwise."

"Oh, what, when you tripped and fell against the kitchen table? You tried to shove past me, that was your own fault."

"I tried to step around you and you pushed me. Sound familiar?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Nothing's ever your fault, is it mom?" This was an argument Bryce had been making for years, and he wasn't surprised when it fell on deaf ears.

"Look at the mess you made," she said, looking down at the shards of broken plate. "I suppose you think I'm going to clean it up."

"No, I'll get it. Where's the broom?"

"In the pantry, behind the door."

"You gonna let me through then?"

Bryce's mother snarled and stepped aside. Bryce picked up the larger shards and walked into the kitchen. He dropped them into the trashcan nestled in the corner of the room then rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. His breath felt forced, like he was trying to inflate a balloon, and his heart was racing.

"I don't hear sweeping," his mother called.

"I'm getting to it," said Bryce, not moving his head. "Just give me a minute."

His mother appeared in the doorway. "Why?"

"I need to breathe."

"You can't breathe while you're sweeping?"

"Just give me a minute," he repeated.

She crossed her arms. "It's not going anywhere."

Bryce's paw curled into a fist. "Stop. I'll get to it."

She leaned against the doorframe and didn't move. After a few moments, Bryce took a deep breath, straightened up, and took the broom out of the pantry. He felt his mother's eyes digging into his back as he swept up the broken plate.

"I better not step on any sharp pieces you missed," she said as Bryce walked past her with the dustpan.

"I didn't miss any," he replied as he emptied the pan into the trash.

"That was one of my good plates," she continued. "I brought it out especially for you, since I'm so glad to have you back. I thought you'd appreciate it."

"I set the table," said Bryce as he put the broom away. "Stop lying, it's just you and me."

"The day I become a liar is the day you get a job," she said venomously.

"I'm going to bed," said Bryce. "Goodnight mom." He headed for the hallway but once again found his path blocked his mother.

"Are you going to spend more time painting?" she asked. There was an accusatory note in her voice.

The tension building up in Bryce was nearing its climax. The fur on his back stood up. "Maybe. So what if I do?"

"Don't you think that time would be better spent looking for a job?"

"That's all I've been doing for the past four days," he said threateningly. "We talked about this. Mammals don't want to hire a former Nighthowler addict, especially a predator. It's going to take some time, and I'll get right back to it tomorrow."

His mother cocked an eyebrow. "Former addict?" she asked. "Are you sure about that? That's a story I've heard more than once."

She was right, as much as pained him to admit. "Yes," he said. "Former addict. I'm clean, mom, and I just want to go to sleep. Please move."

"How do I know a savage who looks suspiciously like my son isn't going to come maul me in the middle of the night?"

"He won't," growled Bryce. "You know I'd never hurt you."

"Is that what you told your father when-"

"SHUT UP!" Bryce shouted. The hall was silent. His mother, having finally found a nerve, smiled.

"-when you attacked him? When he was already on his meds and too sick to-"

"I DIDN'T ATTACK HIM AND YOU KNOW IT!" shouted Bryce. "HE WAS TRYING TO HELP ME!"

"And you did so much to help in return, did you? Getting hooked on drugs when I had enough prob-"

"IN CASE YOU FORGOT, YOU WEREN'T SICK!" shouted Bryce. "DAD WAS! EVEN THAT HAS TO BE ABOUT YOU, DOESN'T IT? IT _ALWAYS_ HAS TO BE ABOUT YOU!"

"STOP INTERRUPTING!" his mother shouted back. "I'M NOT THE BAD GUY HERE, BRYCE, YOU ARE! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO GOT HOOKED, NOT ME! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO ATTACKED YOUR FATHER, NOT ME!"

Bryce clutched the smooth, black stone around his neck tightly in one, trembling paw. "I know I became an addict," he said, "and I'll spend the rest of my life regretting it, but I did not attack dad. I messed up, he helped me, the end."

"Oh, so those bites were just loving nips, huh?"

"Let me through mom."

"So what, you can waste your night painting or going savage? Even after all this?" She shook her head. "Disappointing. I thought I raised you better."

"You didn't. Move."

"No."

"Fine."

Bryce lifted up his arm to brush her aside. She lashed out with her claws, and Bryce shouted in surprise and pain as his mother scratched his arm then grabbed it in a tight, vice-like grip. "You're staying out here where I can see you," she spat. "Go sit-"

She yelped as Bryce grabbed her wrist and twisted. She let go instantly, and Bryce pushed her away. "I warned you not to touch me again," growled Bryce. "I'm going to bed, and I'm leaving tomorrow morning. Goodnight mom."

She whimpered and licked her wrist. Bryce wondered whether or not she was faking her pain, then decided he didn't care. The large wolf turned on his heel and headed toward his bedroom. It was a small room, the same one he shared with his younger brother when they were pups, and was decorated with movie posters and album covers from their childhood. Bryce lay in bed and looked at them while idly playing with his stone necklace and did his best to ignore his mother's sobs from her room down the hall. After a while, he fell asleep.

2

"Hey Grant, it's Bryce."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, then, "Bryce! It's good to hear from you! I haven't seen you in, uhm-"

"Long time, I know," finished Bryce. "I'm sorry about that. I went back into rehab."

"Oh," said Grant. The phone was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah," said Bryce. "It did its job though, I'm clean."

"Really?" asked Grant. Bryce was hurt, but unsurprised, by the note of disbelief in his brother's voice.

"Yeah," said Bryce. "I'm done."

"How long has it been?" asked Grant.

"Little over two months. Listen, I don't want to talk about me, I'm not the one who just graduated. Congrats little bro!"

"Thanks," replied Grant.

"Computer science, right?"

"Yeah, with a minor in Lapine."

"You always were a nerd," said Bryce with a smile. "Told ya it was a good thing."

"Yeah, you did. Several times. What do you want, Bryce?"

Bryce winced. "Well, uhm, there isn't an easy way to lead into this, but I need a place to stay. I can pay rent!" he interjected before Grant could respond. "I have some money stashed away and I'm in between jobs right now but…" He trailed off. Grant was silent on the other end of the line. "Listen," Bryce sighed, "You don't have to, okay? I wouldn't blame you, given everything that's happened. I can figure something else out if I need to."

"Bryce," began Grant. He paused for several long, aching moments before finishing. "You're my brother, you're always welcome. And we can worry about money later, okay?"

Bryce felt an enormous weight lift from his chest. "Thank you Grant. And I'm sorry. For everything."

"I know," replied Grant. "You need my address?"

3

Grant Fitzpatrick was a relatively short wolf, and one of the few canines who insisted on wearing large, obtuse glasses rather than the slimmer variants usually favored by his breed. Those glasses constantly shimmered with reflections, and Bryce saw his distorted face in them when his younger brother opened the door.

"Hey," said Bryce with a tired smile.

"Hey Bryce, come on in." Grant stepped aside and held out a beckoning arm. Bryce stepped into the small entryway of the apartment and looked around appreciatively.

"This is a nice place," he remarked.

"Yeah," said Grant as he closed the door. "Took me forever to find something in the Rainforest District. I'm probably paying too much for this, but," he shrugged. "It works. Need any help with your bags?"

"I don't have any bags," said Bryce. He stuffed his paws into his jacket pockets self-consciously.

"Oh," replied Grant simply. There was an awkward silence.

"Listen, uhm." Bryce rubbed the back of his neck. "I can just crash on your couch, and I'll buy my own food, don't worry about that."

Grant blinked. "Okay," he said. "Well, like I said, we can worry about that stuff later. Speaking of food though, can I get you anything?"

"You have any milk?"

"Yup," said Grant. He walked into the tiny, corner kitchen and produced two glasses. "Milk sounds pretty good actually, I think I'll join you there."

Grant gave Bryce his milk and the two brothers spent the next several minutes lounging on the scant furniture and catching up. Bryce asked Grant about school, his new job, and all the other developments Bryce had missed over the last several months. Grant answered each of these good naturedly, sometimes with a smile and a funny story, and Bryce couldn't help but feel proud of his little brother. Grant kept his questions about Bryce short, almost hesitant, and it eventually occurred to Bryce that Grant was trying to hide the fact he was uncomfortable.

"Hey," said Bryce, leaning forward from his seat on the couch. "Something's on your mind. What's up?"

"Nothing really," shrugged Grant. "I'm just trying to think of what else to tell you."

"You know what I mean," said Bryce. "There's something bothering you. Is it me being here?"

Grant sighed and bowed his head slightly. His glasses nearly slid off his muzzle, and he adjusted them with a subdued paw. "I guess," he said. "I mean, it's good to see you, but, I don't know."

"You don't know what?"

"I don't know, I just," Grant circled one wrist in the air. "It's just weird. Last time I saw you, you were, you know."

"Savaged out," said Bryce. "Yeah, I remember."

"It was scary seeing you like that, then you disappeared and now I hear you were back in rehab and that's why you missed my graduation and," he paused. "I don't know man, it's like you're a stranger."

"Then why did you agree to let me stay?" asked Bryce. There was no anger or pain in his voice, just curiosity.

Grant gave him a half smile. "Come on, you're my brother, I know you'd do the same for me. Besides, I figure I owe you."

"For what?"

"I became mom's new punching bag after you moved out. I never realized how much you did until you weren't there. I don't know how you managed, she's, uh-"

"Awful," finished Bryce. He gave his little brother a sickly smile. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. You want some more milk?"

The tension hadn't deflated completely, but Grant was smiling when he handed Bryce his milk. It was a goofy smile, a smile Bryce had forgotten how much he missed. He returned to that memory, to that smile, quite often during the following days. At first it was pleasant, reminding Bryce of better times and how it felt to be a big brother. Later, after Grant disappeared, it became a nightmare.


End file.
